CODE 7 VICTIM 5 (1964)

An annual week-long celebration is the cold intro to this film. Once the mountains are spotted in the background, you know it is not Rio de Janeiro. The colorful parade traverses the Cape Town streets with instrumentalists and flag-wavers creasing the point-of-view camera as participants pass by. Amid the celebration, however, three [literally] clowns commit a murder.

Released in America in 1965 by Columbia Pictures, nearly half of this eighty-nine-minute film has a potential license to thrill. I was impressed with the great opening theme music by Johnny Douglas as the credits rolled with his faint nod to the signature sound of the "007" franchise of the period. Coupled with Nicolas Roeg's beautiful panning of Cape Town's bay from high in the mountains, it portends what might have been an international action-packed thriller. Add a winding mountain car chase amid views of the sea between two unlikely vehicles, and one can expect a lot of tire-screeching. Another reason for optimism is the presence of the maturely handsome Lex Barker, a New York City private detective with great-looking hair. In the early going, the private detective delivers exactly two one-liners ala Mr. Bond of the period. Yet there is not much action for him in town, and his stuntman, outside an early fistfight with attackers. The film starts to lose its intrigue with a somewhat confused and dull final third.

From the moment Barker steps off the Lufthansa Boeing 720, the film has secret agent potential. He never looked better. Yet he is more a puzzle-solver than tough womanizer. The engaging script continues as he is quickly met by the beautiful (naturally) Ann Smyrner, secretary of a wealthy German, Walter Rilla, whose butler was the film's opening victim—the reason for Barker's hiring. The heavily French-accented Veronique Vendell plays Rilla's adoptive daughter. The dodgeball-faced tart bounces from one male to another. Smyrner is not only an aviation pilot, but also at the helm of a 1958 Lincoln Continental Mark III 430 CID V8 convertible land yacht as it wallows up the mountains toward the estate. Roeg's distant pan shots of the vehicle add adventure—and no back-screen projection scenery ala Hitchcock's It Takes a Thief from a decade earlier. But look out—they are pursued by an eighteen-year-old Dodge Custom, perhaps on its last legs.

Barker—not to be confused with band leader Les Baxter—is one of two faces Americans will recognize. Less so is perhaps Ronald Fraser as Inspector Lean, Barker's help in solving the case, and the film's levity. Fraser's lifestyle is ogling bikini-clad females, and always arriving late to assist Barker. With his somewhat disparate facial features—a mouth no wider than his nose flanked by inflated cheeks—the ladies are not too discriminating. Rilla sits poolside in a wheelchair, though he is not the least bit physically impaired. Reminiscent of Program Manager, “Guy Caballero,” of SCTV fame. Baxter discovers a well-hidden photograph at the estate of four people marked for death. The butler makes it five. But no reveal of Code 7. Perhaps for good reason: Code 7 officially means “out of service to eat” for American police squads, making the teaser at the top of this poster hilariously misguided.

This British Lion Film Corporation endeavor was written by Harry Alan Towers under the pseudonym Peter Welbeck with a screenplay by Peter Yeldham. With its obvious Ian Fleming influence, the film made a tidy profit. Originally filmed as Table Bay, the current spy craze gave it the obscure Code 7 Victim 5 title, yet again as the more logical Victim Five. The end result is a rather talky mystery as it bounces from location to location. The former Tarzan, Barker, shifts to “African Safari” summer wear from JCPenney as he explores a diamond mine, shoots an attacking lion, and goes scuba diving, with viewers wondering about its point in the film. The “point” is the tip of a spear gun's harpoon, mysteriously skewering one of the cast. Expect the oft-used battle between good and evil on a gondola lift as it ascends a mountain and an implausible (nee ridiculous) cliff-hanging climactic pursuit.

Note: There is no doubt this film has some 1960s foreign trademarks of abrupt editing and a studio soundtrack seemingly unconnected to any screen action. Code 7 Victim 5 was released on Blu-ray in 2016 with another 1964 South African caper, the talkative and dull Mozambique—essential with the same production team—as a double feature. It stars a weary Steve Cochran, with an American release eight months after his death. The same or similar Lufthansa Boeing 720 from this film is also used in Mozambique. With the astounding success of the Eurowestern, The Treasure of Silver Lake (1962)—and its six sequels as "Old Shatterhand"—Barker was on a career resurgence with German audiences by the time "Code 7" was released.

THE OMEGA MAN (1971)

 

I suspect this Warner Bros. film was a popular topic in the break room some fifty years ago. Critics at the time were certainly divided, though. It has not held up all that well. It is longer than necessary at nearly one hundred minutes. The intrigue during the first third holds up the best, and that is where I have focused my comments. Directed by Boris Sagal with a screenplay by John and Joyce Corrington, it is a warped adaptation of Richard Matheson's novel, I Am Legend, from 1954. Australian composer Ron Grainer—of Doctor Who and The Prisoner fame—was tapped to do the music score, and though it never gets in the way, it is merely adequate. One can give Matheson some leeway as he speculates about chemical warfare seventeen years in the future with apocalyptic proportions. Speculating only four years into the future, as his film does, simply displays the mindset of Hollywood's pessimistic fears of the “inevitable,” either from nuclear war or cosmic and environmental chaos.

Charlton Heston could be noteworthy in the right roles, where his stiff upper lip—the envy of all ventriloquists—a chiseled face, or the machismo of a bare chest resonate. Coming off his successful Planet of the Apes science fiction film, this tale also seems well-suited for him as the only person left on Earth with a sense of humor—and perhaps the only one inoculated. But this film does not readily reveal that there might be those naturally immune to the toxins. It could easily be construed as an absurd scenario for COVID-19: those not vaccinated are belittled—or eliminated in this film—by those who are.

Filming in downtown Los Angeles on a deserted Sunday morning helped pull off the barren authenticity. Less authentic is Heston's driving skills of a 1970 Ford XL, which he crashes almost immediately due to driving inattentively and too fast for conditions. Furthermore, Heston is on record stating that piloting a chariot was easier than the motorcycle in the film. It must be true. Except for close-ups of Heston when stopped, it is an obvious stuntman doing all the cycling. There is an amusing “Keystone Cops” moment during the opening—speaking of that Ford convertible—when the film is sped up as Heston stands from the driver's seat—a convertible imperative—to fire his automatic rifle at a mutant in a multi-story building. But I cannot understand why, unless Heston took "forever" to get vertical in real-time.

A small group missing out on the vaccine has become a creepy cult of powder-faced “plaguesters” calling themselves the “Family.” These nocturnal albino mutants in Monk robes and matching designer sunglasses represent the biggest credibility gap in the film. Overall, they never seem all that committed to living the nightlife, though torching buildings would appear to be a pleasing pastime. Despite their serious physical ailments, their CEO, Anthony Zerbe, wants no part of modern technology, Heston's vaccine, or the serum created from his own blood. Zerbe's plum role is quite understated when compared to so many recent insane villains. His right-hand mutant, Zachary, puts the “kill” in Lincoln Kilpatrick, though he might have made a more disturbing leader. One thing is for sure: they both hate the “social good life” Heston is living, if one calls living like a prisoner in their own apartment every night. In true anarchist form, a select few destroy Heston’s personal property and all his lab work in a small-scale riot over a disagreement on how one chooses to live.

FILM BRAKE: THE PHIL SILVERS SPECIAL

 

On the first Saturday in May 1960, CBS aired a very funny 55-minute send-up of a television western starring Phil Silvers and Jack Benny, The Slowest Gun In The West. Written and produced by Nat Hiken—following his success of The Phil Silvers Show—and directed by Herschel Daugherty, the story centers on Silvers, Fletcher Bissell III, aka The Silver Dollar Kid, who is the slowest gun in the west outside Benny, as Chicken “Chick” Finsterwald. Both frightened by even the hint of violence, they have been bluffing their way through the old west to stay alive. In many ways, it is a variation on Silvers' signature character, Sgt. Bilko. Like Don Knotts' Barney Fife to follow, the Bilko role defined his career. After the opening's brilliant set-up and humorous script, the movie drags a bit with gratuitous canned laughter not helping. For Benny's part, he appears to be reusing a skit from his own show. These two are the designated funny men with the balance of the cast featuring Bruce Cabot, Ted de Corsia, Robert Wilke, Jean Willes, Jack Elam, and Lee Van Cleef, among others, playing it straight. It is a hoot to watch in all its absurdity. Unfortunately, online prints are of terrible quality.

Conrad Salinger's opening folk ballad, The Silver Dollar Kid, suggests a number of early television westerns, this time featuring a lone rider on a ridge. Sung by the pop-folk duo of Bud and Travis, complete with an acoustic guitar, it appears to be a potential classic prime-time western. Cleverly, the story flashes forward to modern day as an ancestor recalls the town's darkest days to a vacationing family. In 1878, Primrose, Arizona was the roughest town in the west and with another wavy-screen flashback, Silvers sashays through the saloon doors decked-out in shiny black leather...and black-rimmed eyeglasses. It is a burst-out laughing moment even without the canned laughter. The Kid talks in an angry disposition, and the saloon patrons are wary of the mysterious man in black. The initial confrontation with de Corsia, the town's fastest gun, is beautifully played out. Proving just how fast he is, Silvers places his gun several feet away from himself on the bar counter, suggesting that even at that distance, he is incredibly fast. Assessing the impossible, the gunslinger starts his 1-2-3 countdown to draw. Silvers then begins peeling and eating a boiled egg! de Corsia is incredulous. The ever-calm Silvers' mind game suggests he has not counted to number three yet. It is classic Silvers all the way as the fastest tongue in the West. His conniving, confusing logic melts another challenger, Van Cleef, who becomes psychologically beaten down into a child, realizing he has a Freudian complex—his guns simply represent teddy bears.

The gunslingers cannot have the reputation for shooting the slowest gun in the West, so the mayor hires Silvers as sheriff believing he would never be killed. But the outlaws have had enough of “motor mouth” and hire an even slower on-the-draw coward, Benny, to go up against Silvers. Both end up liking each other—partly out of fear—yet get into an argument about who is more “yellow.” The two cowards are thrust into the street by the townsfolk for a gunfight that would, at the very least, eliminate one of them. Each challenges the other to draw first but each defers. Hilariously, the whole charade extends to nightfall and into the next morning! A final flashback to 1960 has Silvers as a modern police officer—certainly looking like an ancestor of Fletcher Bissell—who is startled by the young boy in the family who points his toy “cowboy gun” at him.

Note: Bud Dashiell and Travis Edmundson, alias "Bud and Travis" only had one hit song, The Ballad of The Alamo (1960) but made several successful albums for Liberty Records between 1958 and 1965.

THE THREE MUSKETEERS (1948)

 

I have never read Alexandre Dumas' classic, but have seen a few film adaptations. This movie may explain the reasoning behind most versions, taking it only as far as the jewel theft plot. By trying to cover all the characters and subplots—even with 125 minutes—there is not enough time to develop either. The story lacks a strong central focus, and it is all over the place. Just when one thinks it will be wrapped up, it goes "back around" for a second or third time, introducing irrelevant characters or repeated sequencing. What follows are my takes on a beautifully filmed costumed extravaganza that is not exactly perfect—but great movie-making.

THE DANCING FOIL

The film starts out as a pseudo-slapstick comedy with the over-eager reactions of Gene Kelly (D'Artagnan) closely resembling a cartoon figure. If Kelly could possibly keep this up, I would have likened his character to Danny Kaye's later perfection in the hilarious film, The Court Jester. One might expect (wish) this to set the tone of the film. Kelley's fencing scenes are good and possess enough believability to give a pass on any repetitions. The well-choreographed opening swordplay—filmed at Busch Gardens in Pasadena—is hilariously explosive and done with great acrobatic skills by Kelly. It is easy to see that he enjoyed the role. This amusing sequence opens the door for an undying friendship with the film's title characters. Kelly broke his ankle about a year before the film's release, and these scenes were some of the last filmed to give him maximum recovery time. So there is physicality better left to professional stuntmen, like effortlessly climbing up a trellis to a second story, jumping from great heights, or onto a horse. Then again, I doubt Kelly's agent wanted him leaping off rooftops. The humor is in short supply as the film progresses.

CASTING A LOT

Lana Turner gets top billing yet is arguably the least talented of the big-name actresses of her era. Like many Hollywood discoveries, her appeal was strictly physical, and her youthful glow, which was so magical at the beginning of the decade, began to fade. A hint in this film is when she is imprisoned and lacks makeup. I do not know when those scenes were shot, but after casting her in the role, the director wanted her to lose weight. Her face seems squarish and perhaps heavier. Of course, lighting or camera angle has a great effect on visual perception, perhaps as the director envisioned someone imprisoned in a dark cell. Turner still looked astonishing in other close-ups. She simply did not possess a strong ability to pull off a self-serving villain. She was reluctant to take the supporting role, not fully understanding that it was actually a lead character.

Angela Lansbury campaigned for the Turner role, but MGM said no. Turner was the bigger star at the time—Lansbury had no clout. Lansbury seems wasted (now) in her brief appearance as Queen Anne. Quite astutely, June Allyson did not think a period piece was right for her, but her opening scene with Kelly works well. If you blink at the wrong time, you will miss Marie Windsor's two brief glimpses. Fans probably expected her to develop into someone, but she is never seen a third time.  Along the same lines, Patricia Medina—on a career upswing—appears out of nowhere as Turner's maid. The airhead character could have been left on the cutting room floor. Van Heflin brought a heavy-drinking flair to his role with Gig Young and Richard Coote as adequate comrades. Speaking of old coots, Frank Morgan was too much of the Wizard as the king of France. Long-time MGM contract player Lewis Stone might have been a better—perhaps the only choice within the studio. In face-altering disguise, it may take a bit of time to recognize Keenan Wynn—until his first sentence—as d'Artagnan's right-hand man.

FLAMBOYANT COSTUMES

The wardrobe department pulled out all the stops (for you pipe organ enthusiasts) with costuming, though some today might take exception to their authenticity. One of Turner's hats, the green feathered black hat, pops off the screen and adds about three feet to her height. Vincent Price looked authentic enough—accented in red—and I loved his angled gray/white stripes across his torso for one costume. The musketeers looked as one would expect—like on the candy bar wrapper of the day—in capes, wide-brimmed feathery hats, and vibrant colors.

Despite some questionable casting for a period piece, the film was an entertaining hit with the full MGM splash without singing and magnificent cinematography in dazzling Technicolor. The film's credits can be found on numerous websites, as well as a Dumas synopsis if you choose to explore.

ALLIED ARTISTS PRODUCTIONS

I am highlighting three of the five crime movies released by Allied Artists—each roughly an hour long—that are all quite routine. The films center around the Los Angeles police department and, in particular, a no-nonsense police lieutenant, the low-energy Bill Elliott. He seems out of place in a modern-day setting after his popular cowboy daze. 

 

DIAL RED O (1955)

This slow-moving, sixty-three-minute film, directed and written by Daniel B. Ullman, is as predictable as daylight. Not as obvious at the time was Allied Artists Production's intention to produce four more crime mysteries over the next two years. Rather intriguing [confusing] is that the symbol “O” actually represents the zero on the phone's dial. Apparently, the operator can offer a great deal of assistance no matter the circumstance. In a nutshell, the film opens with a mysterious, intriguing escape from a veteran hospital's psychiatric ward. A war-torn, highly decorated World War II and Korean veteran seeks his wife, who is preparing divorce papers. His escape initiates an all-out manhunt, not really sure if the veteran is unstable or what his plans are for his wife's life. The police department enlists the help of an undercover policewoman, played by Elaine Riley, to help locate the escapee.

Keith Larsen plays the even-tempered, well-mannered veteran whose potential contact with his wife, Helene Stanley, is his only reason for going AWOL. In fact, he plans to return to the hospital that evening. But the audience is way ahead of him as we learn she is involved with Paul Picerni, a Realtor paying for her fancy apartment. In the habit of making demands, she wants Picerni to also get a divorce. Immediately. Temper's flair, he is slapped, and he judo chops her to death, as his combat and Realtor training come into play. He returns to his office to call a few clients as an alibi for his whereabouts. By happenstance, Larsen spots his realty office lit up. The two Marine buddies have a cordial reunion with Larsen, hoping he has seen or heard from his wife. Picerni's devious wheels start turning. He contacts the police about his concern over Larsen's visit. Larsen is jailed but bamboozles the officer with a clever combat trick and escapes. Marlin Skiles' score finally makes itself evident as the escapee heads straight for Picerni, and the two combat-trained vets share a few bullets in total darkness. But you cannot bamboozle Elliott's good judge of character. That, and Stanley's autopsy reveals a detail that dooms Picerni.

Note: Bill Elliott, popular cowboy star for the past two decades, plays Lt. Andy Flynn in this first outing. He is the constant in the series. It was soon brought to Allied's attention that there was a real Andy Flynn in Los Angeles law enforcement, so for the remaining films in the series, the lieutenant becomes Andy Doyle. Elliott is about as tight-lipped as a ventriloquist and appears to really miss the slow pace, prairie campfires with his horse, Sonny.

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SUDDEN DANGER (1955)

Tom Drake "guest stars" in this week’s episode of television's "CSM: Crime Scene Mystery" series. Except this film was never meant as home entertainment, being the second film from Allied Artists Production, Inc., about a Los Angeles detective, Bill Elliott, solving another crime with repeated questioning and methodical deduction. Like the other films in the set of five, it is a talky procedural offering with zero excitement until the last-minute climax. Viewers will know that point when the otherwise dormant Merlin Stiles' score explodes. With less professional performances, the film could have been a laugh-fest. Elliott seems a bit less wooden than in his first installment, and he is able to smile appropriately in this routine whodunit.

The film opens under the credits as we watch men's shoes and dog paws walk on a sidewalk. The Thom McAn's belong to Drake and the paws to his seeing-eye dog. The German Shepherd barks and refuses to go inside their apartment. The natural gas smell is heavy, and he yells for his mother, but it is too late. Elliott investigates the apparent suicide of the woman, a clothing manufacturing company executive. There is substantial evidence that does not support suicide, and all eyes are on her son, who lost his sight years earlier due to his mother selecting what she thought were eye drops. Feeling pretty embarrassed since that day, her insurance policy designated it to go toward his eye surgery. A successful operation later, he feigns his blindness under sunglasses around his mother's attorney and insurance agent in the hope of finding clues to the murderer. Drake is helped by his girlfriend, Beverly Garland, a swimsuit fashion designer for the company. Typically, near the halfway point in the film, Elliott already knows who staged the suicide.

Note: Minerva Urecal plays the apartment manager where Drake lives. Her negative attitude causes trouble for him when she gives false details to Elliott. This frequently happens when someone does not have any facts to back up their opinions. Another Hollywood stalwart, Frank Jenks, plays a bartender with his usual facial contortions. Garland more often than not played strong characters—like in this film—when she was not screaming at a creature in a science fiction film.

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FOOTSTEPS IN THE NIGHT (1957)

This film opens with a teaser. We see a man leave his motel kitchenette to find his poker partner dead in the other room. This all plays out as the camera focuses on a record playing part of a jazzy Marlin Skiles score. A flashback repeats the scene in sequence as the movie unfolds. Directed by Jean Yarbrough, this is the fifth and final film series by Allied Artists Productions Inc. that follows detective Bill Elliott with the Novocaine upper lip. A man of controlled emotions with suits bought off the rack. Don Haggerty plays his partner, and they sort of echo the Dragnet series at times during their idle, barely humorous, chit-chat. This sixty-two-minute film is a talk-fest of interviews between witnesses and those who are anxious to help the department track down a murderer. Pretty boring stuff with Elliott not quite fully awake. He headed for the “Sunset Retirement Corral” after this film. Never mind the poster. Amazingly, no women were attacked in the film.

Douglas Dick, looking at times like the higher fore-headed brother of actor Roger Smith, has had a serious gambling problem in the past, but when we are introduced to his character, he has put all that behind him. Thanks, in big part, to his fiancée, Eleanore Tanin. His acquaintance and motel neighbor, Robert Shayne, has not kicked the habit and pesters Dick into playing a small-stakes game of poker with him. Shayne is not meant to be likable in his brief role. In order to clear some debt and put Shayne in his place, Dick decides to clean him out, then suddenly calls it quits. Shayne is irate that he is not given the chance to win it back and promptly leaves the room in a huff—to get ice for their drinks. The opening scene returns, though the viewer never witnesses the murder.

We later learn of the somewhat humorous premise about the world's fastest strangler, played by Gregg Palmer. In his confusion between two different motels with similar names, he accidentally kills Shayne in bungalow 8 at the wrong motel. The “Bungling Bungalow” strangler intended to kill and rob James Flavin, another bungalow 8 motel occupant. In the murderer's defense, he and Shayne share a similar appearance from behind. Elliott does not figure Dick for a killer, but Haggerty, who never saw the opening scene, bets otherwise. See Dick run. See Dick get apprehended.

Flavin is a spark of fun in an otherwise droll screenplay. Noted for being a typically high-strung Irishman, he is an extrovert of the highest order in this film. A flamboyant salesman who flashes his big-money roll around to attract big business. Spend money to make money. He drives a station wagon loaded with every option. Where he gets his car serviced plays a pivotal role in his future. Elliott wants to use him to flesh out the strangler. Flavin finds the plan exciting until he is informed that he will be the bait for the killer. His excitement wanes momentarily.

Palmer has finally caught up with Flavin in the correct motel just as Elliott planned on his 36” x 24” stakeout drawing. Before strangling Flavin from behind, the baiting police step in. The killer pushes Flavin into Elliott, escapes, and drives away. The gunshot sound effect during this ”exciting” ending sounds like any number of old Saturday morning cowboy shoot-em-ups. Palmer speeds off, leaving the viewer wondering if he gets away. We are suddenly back in the squad room to wrap up the movie with “Deadpan Elliott” explaining to Dick and Jane...er...his fiancé what exactly happened. Tucked neatly within the dialogue is a reveal that Palmer was actually wounded during his getaway. He did not get far and lived a simple life on behalf of the state.

Note: Elliott's other two Allied films are Calling Homicide (1956) and Chain of Evidence (1957).

FILM BRAKE: A CONFIDENT MAN

 

Yancy Derringer (1958-59) is a thirty-four-episode American action/adventure series that was originally broadcast Thursdays on CBS. The opening theme song followed the era's trend as one of the shortest orchestral themes of the era, in the likes of Wanted: Dead or Alive or The Rifleman. Both of whom carried unique firearms. The thirty-minute show was produced by Derringer Productions and filmed in Hollywood by Desilu Productions. Halfway through the season, the show was deemed a success with a second season planned. Now realizing its potential, CBS suddenly demanded a percentage in the profits and wanted Desilu out of the picture. Neither the star nor the creators wanted any part of the plan and the network canceled the show. 

Those sensing the show was another gimmick Western was on to something. It would seem to be cashing in on Have Gun – Will Travel's popularity, which reached its peak at about the same year. Both Paladin—when at the Hotel Carlton—and Yancy like a white suit with frilly shirts and were lovers of fine cuisine and an eye for the ladies. Both were super confident, both used their physical dominance to settle arguments, and both might act as detectives or secret agents. Each knew their way around derringers, too. Paladin carries a 2-barrel version, and Yancy ups the ante with three 4-barrel Sharps pepperboxes hidden in his hat, under a coat sleeve, or in his vest. Though the series is centered in New Orleans, Yancy—like Paladin from San Francisco—might be hired to travel to far-off destinations. 

Set three years after the Civil War, the series follows Yancy's exploits as an ex-Confederate soldier turned cardsharp and gentleman adventurer. The promising first episode set up the series premise as Yancy returns to his estate in New Orleans after several years. A civil engineer and city administrator, the hard-nosed John Colton—played by television veteran Kevin Hagen—makes a deal with Yancy to clean up crime in the city however he sees fit. Colton cleverly makes sure there are no records of them as a team—it is their little secret. Their arrangement brings up one distinct difference between Paladin and Yancy. The latter never gets paid.

There are unique aspects to Yancy, aside from the unlikely pairing of a cool, dapper Jock Mahoney with an emotionless and silent partner, the largest gimmick of the era: Pahoo-Ka-Ta-Wah, or simply Pahoo. Played by X Brands, a Pawnee Indian who carried a knife at his upper back and a double-barreled shotgun under his Native blanket. He always had Yancy's back and the duo were considered blood brothers after Paho saved Yancy's life. They communicate only by hand gestures—both excellent at charades I imagine. It was Mahoney's suggestion that X Brands not say a word during his audition. He became a defining character of the show. Oddly, Mahoney's voice quality may differ during a given scene—at times a puny, nasal sound that can give way to a rich baritone.

Mahoney is certainly appealing with his unflappable, fluid persona. He is a smooth talker as well as a walker with a short stride and a back as straight as a ship's mast. He is quite likable with some witty one-liners added for charm. With fists of iron and a cane that conceals a sword for additional protection. Considered by most in Hollywood at the time to be the most amazing stuntman working, viewers get to witness his athleticism during the occasional fight scene or jumping from a second-story veranda. Somewhat pale in comparison to his amazing work in his earlier Western series, The Range Rider, however. X Brands started as a stuntman as well and they worked together on new stunts. One of the slickest was the tossing of Pahoo's knife back and forth in a rapid, flawless exchange—sometimes backward over the shoulder. A series regular is Madame Francine, played by Frances Bergen, owner of a members-only gambling house in New Orleans. Bergen was the wife of Edgar (and Charlie McCarthy).

D.O.A. (1950)

 

This film is hardly unknown to any film buff, and there are countless reviews of its groundbreaking premise. It is one of the great films in cinema, regardless of the budget. I have elected to focus only on some memorable elements that stand out. Few movies ever opened with this level of intrigue. First up is the captivating opening sequence under opening credits. The innovative behind-the-back view of Edmond O'Brien—under a driving Dimitri Tiomkin score—as the viewer follows his brisk walking down the hallway of a police station—is always on pace with O'Brien's gait. If a director is saddled with a routine script, just hire Tiomkin to better the film. To his surprise, the police have been trying to locate him. To their surprise, O'Brien is there to report his own murder. If there was ever a film needing a big flashback, this is it.

The story and screenplay, written by Russell Rouse and Clarence Greene, of intertwining characters, need the moviegoer's full attention. Probably a tad long at eighty-four minutes, it is directed by Rudolph Maté and produced by Leo C. Popkin. The cinematography by Ernest Laszlo is as powerful as Tiomkin's score. This "mystery murder" has indeed become a classic.

O'Brien's performances are rarely subtle. Here, he possesses all the pent-up rage of an accountant and notary public who is not dead yet. His backstory ramps up while on vacation. The director includes a laughable and silly slide whistle sound effect numerous times whenever O'Brien spots a female, which would seem to indicate his main reason for a vacation. A noisy sales convention party in the adjoining suite gets his attention. The salesman and their locally acquired female companions want to paint the town, and the accountant is invited. It is a bad omen for O'Brien, whose drink is unknowingly switched at the bar. 

Later, feeling ill, he visits a hospital that sets up a second powerful sequence about the physicality of O'Brien. After getting the doctor's diagnosis from swallowing a deadly luminous toxin, he bolts from the office in wide-eyed panic. I have always been impressed with actors of this era running full bore in Florsheim dress shoes on pavement. Forrest Gump has nothing on Frank Bigelow. The thirty-five-year-old fluidly descends down the hospital's long set of outdoor steps—feet are two blurs. I like to assume this was done in one take. He sprints down crowded sidewalks and across mid-town traffic, setting a new notary speed record with pedestrians unaware that a film is in progress. At the point of exhaustion, he momentarily pauses in front of a newsstand beside a display of LIFE magazines. He then begins a slow walk, gradually picking up determination as Tiomkin's score accelerates with O'Brien's pace. His anger propels him to solve his murder in under forty-eight hours. His secretary, Pamela Britton—hopelessly in love with her boss—is frustrated with his vague answers over the phone. He spares her the bad news, but has no time to chat. The film then settles into a rather routine and somewhat confusing mystery of characters disconnected from the viewer.

Britton provides an early lead about a bill of sale for the toxin, something her boss notarized. In the pursuit of truth, the accountant discovers others have died under mysterious circumstances, all continually intersecting with characters under police investigation. They all filter down to the guy who knows too much, O'Brien. The final confrontation between the murderer and the murdered ends the flashback. O'Brien, in one final laugh-out-loud moment, leans over to speak Paula's name to the police chief, the ever-present Roy Engle, then quickly pushes himself sideways and instantly disappears behind the desk.

Note: There is an indelible performance by Neville “Chester” Brand, the ever-so psychopathic henchman hired to kill O'Brien more rapidly. Before ushering him into a waiting sedan, Brand pokes his gun hard into O'Brien's stomach, who doubles over in pain. Delighted by the pain inflicted, the smirking Brand informs him, “You're soft in the belly!” Chester's expressions and crazed, side-eye views of O'Brien while "driving" the studio car are priceless.